helping hand
by fiction fetishist
Summary: "That dress looks good on you," Setsuna says, eyes trained on his. It was a genuine compliment. Tieria isn't sure if that's good or bad. — Setsuna/Tieria


notes: i can't believe this is what gets me off my writing hiatus

—

"A dress."

"Yes, a dress. They know all the meisters are men, so what better disguise than that of a woman? Plus, people are much less likely to suspect a pretty lady. It's the perfect plan!"

Or so Sumeragi had said.

In all honesty, Tieria agreed. It was a sound plan, and, if Tieria's reflection were any indication, it probably had a high chance of succeeding too.

The dress was a deep velvet, a natural complement to his eyes. The cut was simple yet elegant, the kind of style he'd prefer if he were actually of the female persuasion.

Yes, it all seemed to fit perfectly.

A little _too_ perfectly.

Thinking more on the topic, Sumeragi had said it was just "an old dress that was collecting dust at the back of the closet", but, Tieria notes with a twinge of annoyance, the chest area would be far too _insufficient_ for someone of her size. likewise, the length didn't quite match up with Feldt or Mileina either.

Really, the more he thinks about it, the more he suspects—no it was practically confirmed at this point—that they had been preparing for this well in advance.

"Is it really so exciting so see me in a dress?"

"I think you look good."

Tieria turns at the sudden voice, balance slipping beneath his heels. "Setsuna?"

The latter swiftly closes the space between them, places a steady hand on his shoulder.

Tieria allows himself a small moment to recover, the lingering warmth of Setsuna's hand oddly reassuring.

"I think you look good," the latter repeats, eyes trained on his.

There was no teasing in his voice, none of the playfulness he'd known from Lockon, or even the sympathy he'd expect from Allelujah.

It was a genuine compliment.

Tieria isn't sure if that's good or bad.

"I think you look... decent," he finally replies, hands straightening the other's collar. "I'd do without the hat, though."

Setsuna shrugs. "It's part of the uniform."

Tieria hums. Well, the plan was for "her" to pose as an influential somebody and for Setsuna to be "her" chauffeur. Tieria still finds it a stretch to believe Setsuna was old enough to drive, despite being four years older now, and handling far more complicated machinery for even longer.

"Will you be alright?" Setsuna asks, though his tone is as impassive as ever.

"I'm not sure I know what you mean."

Setsuna offers his hand. "Can you dance?"

"Did someone put you up to this?"

Setsuna doesn't answer.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Setsuna catches him at the wrist, his firm grip in place of a "wait".

Tieria sighs. "Well if you're going to be _this_ persistent... But _I_ _'_ _ll_ lead."

Setsuna frowns, but lets Tieria hold his hand in his. "Aren't you supposed to be the woman?"

Tieria takes a quick step, sends him into a stumbling turn before returning him into the steady hold of his arms. "But which one of us actually knows how to dance?"

Setsuna can't argue that, and resigns himself into Tieria's lead.

"So you _can_ be obedient when you try," Tieria remarks, leaning close.

Setsuna glances up at him, but otherwise does not reply.

He's always been quiet by nature, Tieria supposes, though now it seems to be a concentrated effort, instead of just a personal habit.

Tieria watches him study their steps carefully, though in his case they're missteps more often than not. his feet fumble awkwardly, lost amidst the precision of Tieria's footwork; his body, stiff, twisting out of time against Tieria's rhythm; his expression, however, remains as composed as always, a firm determination fixed across his features.

There's a memory that flashes across Tieria's mind then, a scene from years ago as he watched their newest recruit pilot for the first time. he had struggled then too—as expected—though his resolve never wavered.

It's a comforting thought, Tieria muses, that beneath the newfound sharpness of his features, past the widened breadth of his shoulders, some things don't change.

"Tieria," Setsuna starts, before the former leads him into a dip, slowly, tenderly, his long hair falling in waves, brushing against Setsuna's cheek as he leans in, breath hovering.

"Yes, Setsuna?" Tieria asks, his voice is barely above a whisper, and yet—

Setsuna can hear it all, _feel_ him all oh so clearly.

Neither know how much time passes then, breaths and heartbeats melding together into one and a hundred at once.

"I—"

 _"_ _S_ _etsuna_ _F._ _S_ _eiei._ _T_ _ieria_ _E_ _rde._ _R_ _eady to commence operation._ _S_ _etsuna_ _F._ _S_ _eiei._ _T_ _ieria_ _E_ _rde._ _R_ _eady to commence operation."_

"Well, you heard them," Tieria says, pulling back and setting Setsuna back onto his feet. "We should—"

"I'll lead, next time," Setsuna says, catching Tieria's wrist.

"Next time," Tieria repeats, humming. "Well then," he smiles, moves closer, "you'd better find a nice dress."


End file.
